


The Mysterious Package

by Domina_Stellarum



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mostly Fluff, gobblepot, idk man, this was supposed to be for christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domina_Stellarum/pseuds/Domina_Stellarum
Summary: Oswald has a gift for Jim and Jim wants nothing to do with it. At first.





	1. Chapter 1

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No.” Jim reiterated, pushing the brightly colored package further across the table. He pulled his hand back and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Oswald blinked and reached his own hand up to retrieve the small box. He ran his fingers over the smooth, shiny paper and felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. He would never admit it but he had spent more time than necessary wrapping the box; making sure every crease of the paper was perfectly crisp and tying the ribbon in the world's most perfect bow. He certainly would never tell anyone how long he had to work to create that bow, or how many YouTube videos he had to watch. Instead, he pocketed the package and turned his gaze back to the detective still sitting across from him. 

“Well,” Oswald smiled, “This puts us in an awkward situation.” 

Jim huffed. “Does it?” 

“Yes. I presented you with a gift. A gift that you have so rudely rejected, but a gift nonetheless. And it seems as though you have given nothing in return.” He replied, gesturing to the now empty spot on the table. 

Jim felt a small smile cross his lips and quickly stifled it. “What ever happened to ‘it's the thought that counts’?” 

“Oh Jim, you and I both know that's not how the world works nowadays.” 

“Are we done here?” Jim asked a moment later, his tone more hopeful than actually annoyed. 

Oswald nodded. “For now.” 

Jim stood up from the small booth; it was tucked into the darkened back wall of an upscale Italian restaurant. The booth was too secluded and the restaurant was too stuffy and expensive for Jim's taste, but it was one of Oswald's favorite meeting spots. Meaning he spent more time than he wanted pressed into the cool leather seats of the back booth, staring into the eyes of one of Gotham's head crime bosses. 

He felt the guarded stares of the other patrons as he walked through the small maze of tables and booths. As he reached the door he glanced to the back of the restaurant once more, expecting to see the booth empty; it usually was after their meetings. Generally, Jim would walk out the front and Oswald would be ushered out the back by one of his many body guards. 

Instead of an empty booth, Jim was met by the sight of Oswald running his fingers over the small present. A small smile had pulled itself across the man's face as he fingered the perfectly tied silver bow. 

Jim would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit curious about the mysterious box Oswald had tried to give him. But as he stepped out of the restaurant he let the curiosity melt into the background of the next few days. Several cases had been piling up on his desk and he couldn't afford to be distracted by silver bows and crisp paper. 

And he wasn't. That is until the small package appeared on his desk a week later. 

Jim jogged into the precinct over an hour late. He had fallen asleep on the sofa surrounded by casework and had forgotten to set an alarm for the morning. He gave Harvey a quick wave before slipping into the locker room, he hoped with all his might that he had a few essentials stowed away in his locker. 

After washing his face and digging out deodorant from the back of his locker, Jim finally took a seat at his desk.

The first thing he noticed was not the ever increasing stack of cases, or the gruesome crime scene photos Harvey had just slapped in front of him; it was the small perfectly wrapped present that sat in the very middle of his cluttered desk. He picked it up and shook it, probably a little too hard. The packages contents clattered around inside with dull thumping sounds. Whatever was in it was heavy, dense and seemed to clash with the playful star-covered wrapping paper. 

“What is this?” Harvey asked, plucking the package from Jim's hands. 

“I have no idea.” Jim sighed. He swatted Harvey's hand away from the still-pristine bow and pulled the box back to inspect it more. 

“Generally, people open presents.” Harvey insisted. Jim could see the curiosity filling his eyes. 

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure I don't want to open this one.” 

“Who’s it from?” 

“Oswald Cobblepot. If you'll believe that.” 

“Penguin?” Harvey's face twisted in confusion and vague disgust. “Why on earth is that guy giving you anything?” 

Jim tossed the present on his desk, another dull thunk made him think he should probably be more careful with it. “It gets better.” 

Harvey crossed his arms and leaned against the metal railing next to Jim's desk. 

“Do tell.” 

“This isn't the first time he's tried to give it to me.” 

Harvey arched an eyebrow as Jim continued. “I had a meeting with him last week. About that robbery uptown. Remember?” Jim paused and watched as Harvey slowly nodded yes. “Well, he told me he had nothing to do with it and he didn't know who did.” 

Harvey huffed. “Yeah right.” 

“Anyway, I thought we were done and all of a sudden he just...pulled it out of his pocket and gave it to me.” 

“Why didn't you open it?” 

“I'm not sure that I want to.” Jim looked up at Harvey and shrugged. “I don't know what's inside.” 

Harvey opened his mouth and Jim held up a finger to stop him. “Before you say ‘that's the point’ think about who it's from.” 

Harvey snorted a laugh and pushed off from the rail. “It's not like he's going to send you a bomb.” 

The two men shared a look at each other and then back at the package. 

“Right?” Harvey asked, his tone not all too sure sounding. 

Before Jim could answer his partners semi-hypothetical question a voice boomed through the hall. 

“Gordon! Bullock! You're not getting paid to stand around gossiping! Get to work.” Captain Barnes yelled.

“Yes sir!” Harvey replied, over acting as he stood up straight and sent a salute at the man. 

Barnes responded with an eye roll and a mumble as he slammed his office door shut. 

“Looks like play times over.” Harvey sighed taking a seat at his desk. Jim smiled at his partner and slid the small package into the bottom drawer of his desk. Out of sight out of mind, he thought as he turned his attention to the bloody photos from before. Thankfully they were enough to keep his mind occupied. After a few hours he had forgotten about the box completely. 

“Ho shown im.” 

Jim shot up from his desk so fast it made his head spin. He blinked the swirling world away and tried not to glare at whoever had just woken him up. As he glanced around the large room he realized with growing annoyance that Harvey was long gone and the precinct had grown quiet. 

“I'm sorry, what?” He mumbled at the blurry figure in front of him. 

“I said ‘go home Jim’.” Captain Barnes repeated, placing a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. 

“I will, I just have to…” Jim started, Barnes sent him a glare to shut him up. Knowing it would be a lost cause to argue, Jim nodded at his Captain and collected his things from the cluttered desk. 

Jim managed to make it down the steps near his desk before a strange nagging feeling forced him to stalk back and bring the mysterious package home with him. 

After dodging two young officers as they struggled to drag a particularly pissed off man in for questioning, Jim finally made it down to the garage. After the change of shifts the garage was left eerily empty. Jim silently cursed his tardiness from the morning as he made his way down to the basement level of the garage; it had been the only place with any spots left when he drove in.

When Jim finally pulled himself into his car he yanked his car door shut, with more force than necessary, and rested his head against the steering wheel. After the day he had the rough wheel felt strangely welcoming. He knew that if he didn't leave soon he would probably fall asleep and would spend the night in the garage. Sighing, he turned his car on and let the heater kick on before pulling out of the garage. 

His drive home wasn't a long one, but as he felt the wheel jerk and a loud horn blare he knew he had lingered on a blink. Knowing that he was about to fall asleep, Jim begrudgingly turned off the heater and rolled down the windows. The case files he has flung into his passenger seat began to flutter, threatening to slip out the open window. Jim glanced at the noisey stack and caught sight of the small package resting on the top of it. 

He slipped the package onto the dash and rolled the windows up a little; there was no way he was going after the files if they did manage to blow out. He glanced at his watch and pulled a u-turn at the next light, it was still relatively early in the evening and a trip across town would, at least, give him something to focus on as he drove.

By the time he pulled through the gaudy gates of Oswald’s mansion his teeth were chattering. 

But at least I'm not dead, Jim thought gravely as he turned off the car and stalked up the long path towards the front door. He clutched the small package in his shaking hands and rang the doorbell. He half expected Oswald to open the door before he even had a chance to finish ringing the bell. He was pleasantly surprised when a tall, blank faced man answered the door instead.

“Ah, Detective Gordon. What can I do for you today?” The man asked. 

Jim was sure he had never met the man before but wasn't surprised he knew his name, everyone who worked for Oswald probably knew who Jim was.

“You can give this back to your boss.” Jim replied, holding out the package for the man to take. Instead of taking it, the man simply stood in the doorway and stared. 

“I don't want it.” Jim insisted. 

The man sighed and gently took the package from Jim's hand. The way the man held it so carefully made Jim wonder if it really was incendiary. 

“Very well.” The man replied. “However, Mr. Cobblepot isn't going to be happy about this. Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Jim waved, already halfway down the walkway. By the time he got into his car the man was still standing in the doorway, apparently unaffected by the cold air of the early evening. It wasn't until Jim had reached the gate that he saw the mansion door slowly shut in his rearview mirror. 

Jim drove home faster than was necessary, blasting cold air from the vent in another half-ditch attempt to stay awake. 

The mystery of the neatly wrapped package stayed in his head all through the drive  
and for most of the evening. Eventually an hour or so of boring casework had pulled his thoughts from small box. He was still working on the uptown robbery case and was beginning to feel as if the words in the file were rearranging themselves every time he blinked. The papers covered every available inch of his dining room table, and the table itself seemed to span on for miles. Jim suddenly realized he had been staring at the same sentence for over five minutes, and it still made no sense. 

Sighing, he hauled himself out of the creaky wooden chair and stalked off to his small bedroom. After peeling off what was left on his suit he flopped down in bed. It felt like a cloud after the long day and Jim wished he could lay in it forever. It was only after he pulled the comforter comfortably over his body that he realized he had, yet again, forgotten to set an alarm. 

Groaning heavily he flung the blanket off and slipped out of bed. Thankfully the device was nestled into his pants pocket at the foot of his bed and not sitting all the way back in the dining room. 

Jim set an alarm and crawled back into bed. He drifted off to sleep quickly and when he awoke he swore he would tell no one of how he dreamt about that small box and it's perfect silver bow. 

With a shower and a real breakfast Jim already felt than he did the previous day, especially with the weight of the mysterious package off his shoulders. 

Thinking nothing could possibly ruin his morning Jim threw open his front door and nearly screamed. Sitting on his porch was the small box, still perfect and looking untouched. He pulled his phone out, snapped a photo, sent a text and hurried off towards his car. 

Already at his desk with a steaming cup of coffee, Harvey laughed as a slightly blurry photo of a present sitting on a dirty welcome mat popped up on his phone screen. 

Across town, Oswald frowned and swore as a text pulled him from a particularly pleasant dream. He read the text several times and sat up in bed, a smile spreading across his face.

The man was still laughing by the time Jim sat down at his desk. He tried desperately to focus as he flipped through the same case files from the night before. Across from him Harvey was trying to talk to him, but Jim didn't know about what. He panicked internally as he struggled to pay attention to both his partner and the file in his hands. 

“-ing to do with it?” Harvey finished, he looked up from his desk and towards Jim, obviously looking for an answer to a question Jim didn't hear. 

“What?” 

Harvey sighed. “ I said are we sure that Penguin has nothing to do with it?” 

“The robbery?” Jim asked, trying to remember the conversation Harvey had been having with him. 

“Yes Jim, the robbery.” Harvey rolled his eyes and continued. “There is literally no one else who could have pulled off such an elaborate heist, I mean the guards- hey!” 

“What?” Jim repeated, it was like every word that came from Harvey's mouth went in one ear and out the other. 

“What the hell has got you so damn distracted? It's the fuckin’ box isn't it? You have got to do something about that!” Harvey yanked the file from Jim's hands and motioned towards the stairs. 

“No, I-”’

“Look just go take care of it and come back. I'll cover for you. But seriously you have to deal with it, man. Being distracted makes you the worst partner ever.” 

Jim hesitated for a moment as he stood up. “Thanks Harv.” He finally mumbled as he as he dashed down the stairs. “I'll be quick.” 

“You better be!”


	2. Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes later Jim found himself standing outside Oswald’s club. He had a momentary desire to turn heel and run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He knew that nothing good could possibly come from stepping through the heavy black doors in front of him, but it was the only way to fix his problem once and for all. 

As he reached for the handle, it slipped through his fingers, apparently being pulled from the other side. The same tall and blank faced man from the mansion opened the door and gazed down at Jim. Jim nodded and walked quickly past the man, there was something about his lack of any apparent emotion that made Jim feel uneasy.

He let out a sigh of relief when he realized the man didn't follow him into the club.  
He instead took a seat on a small stool near the door and pulled a phone out of his pocket. The man sent one last glance in Jim's direction before he turned back to his phone and started typing. 

Jim turned quickly and continued into the small club. It was empty except for a lone singer on the stage and a dark figure tucked into one of the booths. He could hear the singer's sultry voice even outside the clubs doors. She stood in the middle of the stage, swaying in tune with the music. Her sequined dress cast dull glimmers of light against the walls of the dark club and Jim realized too late, after the girl sent him a quick wink, that he had been staring. 

He slipped into the dark booth, not bothering to announce his arrival. Sitting across from him Oswald was busy sending what looked like a novel sized message. 

“Hello Detective Gordon.” Oswald cooed as he set his phone down on the table. “You're late.” Jim could see someone was rapidly texting the man, but he couldn't tell who it was or what their conversation had been about. 

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Jim remarked as the phone continued to buzz on the table. 

Oswald smiled and slipped the phone into his coat pocket. “Not at all.” He nodded at the young woman. The music stopped and she sauntered off the stage. It was at that moment Jim realized how alone the two were in the club. 

“So what can I help you with today? I'm afraid I still don't have any leads on your little robbery. But if you'd like I could probably ask around some more. There's quite a-” 

“Cut the crap. You know why I'm here.” 

Jim yanked the package out of his pocket and tossed it across the table. The loud thump caused Oswald to tense up and for his grin to melt into an uneasy scowl. 

“Gentle!” He hissed reaching out to right the package. He frowned at the small box. It was no longer the picturesque vision it had once been. The paper was creased and a small tear had opened up in one corner, revealing the matte black box beneath the paper. He turned the package around in his hands and sighed as he placed it back on the table. His frown deepened at the sight of the now crinkled bow. It had been flattened by the numerous trips in Jim's pocket. 

“Fine.” He finally said looking Jim in the eyes. 

“Fine?” 

“Fine.” Oswald repeated. “I give up.” 

“That's not a sentence I'd expect to hear from you.” Jim replied, a little bit shocked at how easy it was to get Oswald to back off. 

“Don't expect to hear it again.” He quipped with a tight lipped smile. “If that's all, you're free to leave.” 

Jim hesitated for a moment before sliding out of the booth. He stood alongside the table and stared, concerned about the lack of fight in Oswald's voice. Jim bit back this concern and slowly walked away from the booth. As he reached the door he heard the smooth voice of the young girl start up again and turned back towards the stage. The girl had found her spot back in the middle of the stage, drenched in spotlight and glittering as before. However, Oswald was no longer in the booth. 

Worried, Jim took a step back into the room and found Oswald behind the bar, he watched as the man poured himself a large drink and downed the entire glass in one swift movement. 

Suddenly, as stiff drink didn't sound like too bad of an idea. He thought that maybe he could join Oswald at the bar, but immediately realized that would be a terrible idea. Jim left the club with a strange feeling swirling around his chest. 

Much to Harvey’s dismay he had failed to rid himself of his distractions, making the rest of his day long and stressful. After eight hours of repeating himself Jim was sure Harvey was going to explode. When their day was finally done Harvey left in a huff, probably off the bar to drink away the stresses of the day. 

Jim knew that eventually Harvey would forgive him, but at that didn't make his guilt disappear any faster. He drove home feeling worse than he had the previous day, the only shining light came in the form of a six-pack from the gas station a block down the street. 

After his fourth, or was it fifth, bottle of beer Jim pulled out his phone and lazily typed out a short message.

What was in it? 

Excuse me? 

The gift. What was it? 

The time for that has passed. 

Just tell me.

No.

Jim stared at his phone with increasing annoyance. At least I gave it a shot, he thought as he opened his next bottle. Just as he was about to turn his phone off all together another message popped up on the screen. 

Come over and you can find out for yourself. 

Can't drive. 

I'll send a car. 

Jim felt a sudden wave of panic flow through him as he read and reread the last message. He jumped up from his place on the sofa and stalked off towards his bedroom. After a a few minutes of digging through his laundry basket he yanked on a clean-ish pair of jeans and a long sleeve thermal; it wasn't his best look, but it was better than the ratty academy t-shirt and sweats he had been wearing. 

Once back in the living room Jim sat back on the sofa for a moment, his leg bounced nervously and he wished he had never texted Oswald in the first place. He lept up once more and began to pace around his small apartment, nothing he tried to tell himself or think about helped to slow his rapidly beating heart. A sudden knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. 

Already? Jim groaned, trying to figure out how much time had passed since Oswald sent his last text. The knocking continued as Jim hurriedly slipped on a worn pair of sneakers. He pulled open the door and tried to look as calm as possible as he followed the driver out to a black town car parked neatly on the street. 

He sent a polite smile at the man as he held open the back door of the car for him. It was an awkward start to an even more awkward drive. Jim wasn’t used to such treatment and found himself letting out a sigh of relief when the car pulled through the gates of the mansion. This time he didn’t wait for the driver to open his door, he threw it open himself and slammed it shut behind him. The cold air hit him hard as he quickly made his way up the walkway towards the front door. After a few loud knocks an older woman opened the door and motioned for him to step in. 

“Mr. Cobblepot is waiting for you in the parlor.” 

“Of course he is.” Jim mumbled, still standing in the doorway. He looked around the dark entrance way and sighed. There was no turning back now. He stepped into the mansion and shut the door quietly behind him. As the housekeeper slipped away, obviously not planning on showing Jim where to go, he gravitated towards a soft glow coming from a small room off to his left. He took an uneasy step into the light and faltered backward at the sudden appearance of another person. 

“You're drunk.” Oswald quipped from the doorway of the parlor. 

“I am not.” Jim defended quickly, trying desperately to straighten himself out. 

“Whatever you say.” Oswald replied, walking back into the room. “Well, since you're here, why don't you come take a seat?” He called over his shoulder. 

Jim eyed the space uneasily and wondered if he should actually join the other man. Yes, he decided, walking into the small room. He glanced around and took a seat in a plush chair near the fireplace. Surrounded by antiques and what seemed like more velvet than necessary he suddenly felt very out of place. A loud crack of wood made him jump in his seat. 

“Nervous, James?” Oswald asked, a coy smile played along his lips. He sat across from Jim with a glass of brandy in his hand. A half-empty decanter and the mysterious package sat on a small ornate bar next to his chair. 

Jim glared and leaned forward. “Let's just get this over with.” 

Oswald picked up the package from the bar and gently lobbed it at Jim, who fumbled before dropping it to the floor. As he bent over to retrieve it he heard Oswald softly tsk-ing in disapproval. 

“What happened to ‘gentle!’” Jim asked, emphasizing the last word in a way that made Oswald glare. 

“Honestly, I was more concerned with the wrapping than the actual gift. It took me a very long time to get that bow perfect.” 

Jim turned the package over and slid his fingers between the layers of shiny paper.  
He glanced up at Oswald, tore off the paper in one swift movement and threw it into the fire, never breaking eye contact.

“Being petty will get you nowhere.” 

Jim shrugged his response and opened the now bare black box. Inside was a wad of bright red tissue paper, he pulled it out and let it drift slowly to the floor. 

“Oh so that doesn't go in the fire?” 

“You're lucky I don't throw the whole thing in there.” 

“You were the one who was so curious!” Oswald shot back.

Jim glared and watched Oswald settle angrily back into his chair. He tipped the box and felt a sudden weight in his hands. 

Jim stared at the strange gift and gaped at Oswald. “What the hell is this?” He asked as he held a small globe up in front of his eyes. 

“It's a snow globe you idiot.” 

“You're telling me that you tormented me with…” He shook the globe in front of his eyes and watched the artificial snow float around. “This!” He finished jumping up from his seat. Jim continued to gape and his head was spinning, the sudden movement seemed to make all the alcohol rush to his head at once. Everything in the parlor seemed to spin and melt and nothing made sense. 

“I...I can't even tell what it is.” Jim sighed finally, sinking to the floor. He hadn't even tried to sit back in his chair. Oswald found the sight of Jim sitting on his parlor floor to be one of the most humorous things he had seen recently. 

“It's a port.” Oswald replied curtly, trying not to laugh at the childish state of the detective. 

“A port?” 

“The port of Gotham to be exact.” 

“They make snow globes of the port of Gotham?” 

“No, they do not.” Oswald whispered. He sunk further into his seat and downed the last of his brandy. It grew quite in the small room. Oswald tucked a hand under his chin and stared at his empty glass, not daring to even steal a glance down at Jim. 

Jim in the other hand was still slumped on the floor. He shook the snow globe again and sighed as the room continued to spin in his peripherals. 

“Why?” Jim finally asked.

“You'll have to be more specific James.” 

“Why did you have someone make a snow globe of the port of Gotham just to give to me?” Jim asked quietly. 

Oswald remained while he continued to watch Jim shake the globe. “It's where you saved my life.” 

“What?” 

“The docks. You saved me.” 

Jim laughed and shook the globe again. The snow danced around the small replica of the docks slowly. He rested the globe gently on the floor and quickly lifted himself up. 

“I remember.” Jim replied, walking over to stand in front of the other man. 

Oswald forced himself to smile. “Good.” 

Jim gripped the arms of Oswald’s chair and leaned down. “But Why?” He asked again. 

“Because…” He stared, suddenly at a loss of the words. The detectives’ close proximity caused his head to swim. “Because...I…” 

Oswald never finished his sentence. In lieu of a response he reached up and grabbed a fistful of Jim’s shirt. Pulling him close he planted a rough kiss on the man, it didn't last long as the sharp click of teeth caused Oswald to gasp and release Jim's shirt. 

Oswald held his breath and leaned back into his chair. Jim’s mouth fell open as his features grew increasingly more confused. He remained hunched over the chair, but Oswald noticed his arms shaking slightly. 

“Jim, I'm s-” Oswald started to apologize when he was cut off. Jim’s hands had moved quickly from the arms of the chair and latched roughly onto Oswald’s lapels. He pulled him out of his chair and forced him to stand. The two were now only inches apart. 

“Jim, please I-” Oswald nearly begged, his eyes wide in fear.

Jim felt like the floor has given way beneath him. He could feel the hot burn of the fire on his face, so hot it felt like the entire room was on fire. In front of him Oswald looked terrified, he was still trying to apologize but Jim wasn’t really listening. 

“Shut up.” Jim finally growled.

“Ple-” Oswald tried to continue. Jim removed his hands from Oswald's lapels and moved them to rest on either side of his face. The other man stopped mid-word and stared, panic still etched on his face.

“I said, shut up.” Jim slid his fingers into Oswald's hair and closed the gap between them. There was no click of teeth or sharp gasp as Jim kissed him. Instead, he brought their lips together with surprising gentleness, only deepening the kiss when he felt Oswald press into him. Jim lost track of time as he worked his mouth against Oswlad’s. By the time the two did break apart he felt as if hours could have passed. 

Oswald was the one to gently push Jim away. 

“I...” He breathed. “I suppose this means you like it.” 

“I suppose it does.” Jim smiled before pulling Oswald in once more.


End file.
